


Coming for Blood

by ViciousRhythm



Series: Reylo trope coverage [8]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, F/M, Roman-ish setting, Smut, i watched Spartacus too much, mention of slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousRhythm/pseuds/ViciousRhythm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gladiator AU. Kylo Ren is the heir to the Emperor and thus, has the task of overseeing the breaking-in of new slaves destined for the arena. One in particular catches his eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming for Blood

**Author's Note:**

> No one told me it was reylo smut week! But it's fine, I'll just have to write fast ;)

While most of the population could watch the games day in and out without losing interest, Kylo Ren has seen enough of them to last. He’s never enjoyed the sport of killing, especially when so much money has changed hands to affect the outcome, and yet he is the one charged with overseeing the games while Emperor Snoke deals with matters of state. As his legal heir, it’s Kylo’s duty, but one he does not particularly relish. Still, the official games only last a few days, and are nearing their end. He can put up with the heat of the stadium and the headache-inducing noise for two days more.

The showing today hardly needs his attention anyway, leaving Kylo to think fondly of the cool bath he could be having instead of watching newly acquired slaves try to inexpertly beat each other to death. It’s always a mad bloodbath when it comes to thinning the new acquisitions. He’d watched a dark-skinned boy and what looked to be a Spaniard emerge victorious last round with a fairly admirable bit of teamwork, but he doubts they’ll both stay alive long. The younger boy had vomited when he’d been still long enough to face the carnage wrought by them. Such a weak stomach hardly made him suitable for the life of a gladiator.

It is what the survivors are meant to be, however. Gladiators baptized in the blood of the arena, bought after their first showing by the wealthier houses to train into proper warriors for the crowd. Kylo hasn’t been called upon to decide the lives of any of them so far because, frankly, if they don’t live through the first melee, they aren’t worth the money to keep.

The current bout has a strange mix of individuals – largely composed of a group taken from the desert lands, all of them different sizes and colors, but equally starved around the eyes. It makes for a desperate and messy fight, but the star of the group is a slim woman, and hardly that. Kylo would put her at a decade his junior, hardly out of adolescence, and yet she fights with all the brutality of a seasoned warrior. The bladed staff looks at home in her hands, taller than her entire frame, but wielded with precision and force nonetheless. She’s the first slave to catch his eye all day, and Kylo watches her, rapt.

Her last kill is a short man, swift and almost entirely encased in armor, but the girl finds an opening and thrusts the blade between helmet and breastplate, forcing it through the man’s throat to stop him in his tracks. The short sword falls from his hand and the girl rips her own weapon free, spray of blood spattering over her front as she gives a feral cry. Her chest heaves and her eyes search for the next opponent before realizing he was the last.

Kylo Ren finds himself on his feet as her back straightens, teeth grit against the blinding sun. His arm is raised when it comes time for her to be bought, and no one challenges his claim. He could bring the full force of the empire’s treasury to bear if anyone were to bid for her, but it’s unnecessary. As promising as she is, there are no households so desperate to train a new champion that they will engage Kylo in a bidding war.

His new prize is escorted from the sands of the arena, nearly biting the poor men charged with seeing to her on her way out. Kylo hardly pays attention to the rest of the matches, his mind already below the coliseum in the darkness of the cells. He performs the ceremonies required of him by rote, the familiar cadence of the words falling easily from his lips to the sound of cheers, and as the rabble filters back out onto the streets, Kylo Ren descends to the warren below the arena.

He wonders idly if she has a name, as he follows one of the groundskeepers to the cell holding the girl. There is only a passing likelihood she even speaks a language he understands, so her name may remain a mystery by virtue of that alone. He is told she was taken from Judea, though they haven’t been able to make her speak more than curses in Aramaic. Kylo’s Aramaic is hardly up to standard, so he hopes she speaks Greek as well. True enough he’d purchased her for reasons other than conversation, but he has always tired quickly of simple minds, and those unable to communicate even more rapidly.

She is perched on a cot when he finds her, likely not daring to lie down for fear of the vulnerability of the position. She is watchful, tracking his movements, and Kylo can see her hand flinch as if reaching for a weapon. He cuts an imposing figure for a man of nobility, he knows. It’s enough to make the groundskeeper obey him when he tells the man to leave them. Without her weapon, he doubts the girl could do more than perhaps land a blow as a surprise, and she will not find the consequences pleasant should she try.

“Do you have a name?” he tries, trading the more familiar Latin for Greek in the hopes she will understand him. She may, given how her shoulders loosen incrementally, but she offers no response. Unlocking the door with a borrowed key, Kylo steps into her cell and the girl unfolds herself to stand before him. She is a wiry thing, made hard by life in a desert, and strong by necessity. She must be very new, not even having her hair cut off yet. It’s fallen from where it was initially tied back, escaping in wisps across her shoulders and plastered to her face with sweat in some places.

“I am Kylo Ren,” he tells her, looking down on her. Her arms and legs are strong where her face is fine-boned with all the strength there in her jaw. It’s been an age since Kylo devoted his patronage to a gladiator, but he has the feeling she will be worthy of his attention. Her size will have her constantly underestimated, no matter how many times she proves herself, and her ferocity shows endless promise. There is a vague acknowledgement that she is attractive, but it takes a backseat to his preoccupation with her potential.

“You are to be a gladiator for my household,” he goes on when she only watches him silently. “Prove yourself valuable and you will find it not an unpleasant position.”

Her eyes spark at that, and he at least knows she understands him if she will not speak. Rather than backing away as might be prudent, she keeps her place before him, an arms length between them, and nods.

“Kylo Ren,” she says finally, and that is all she says.

She is action after that, falling to her knees but not in deference. Kylo goes to stop her hands when she starts moving his clothing out of her way, but she shakes him off with an annoyed look. He steps back, almost disgusted, and her hand catches his ankle.

“That is not what I bought you for,” he snaps, irritated with her forwardness, but his irritation seems to mean nothing to her. She stands and follows his backward motion, their hands battling over his clothes. She is quicker than him, and though he manages to catch her wrists, she wriggles one free and grabs hold of his cock before he can catch her again.

His sense of propriety could be made of steel, but he is not, and the careful pressure of her grip does not leave him unaffected. Still, the minor anatomical response doesn’t mean he loses his head. He drags her hand away from him and earns a truly furious expression from her in response, and then he earns himself a bite as well.

Gasping, he all but throws her from him, landing her a few paces away. She looks satisfied, the expression tugging at his irritation as well as his cock. She may be difficult to break, but if this is the way she chooses to be broken, so be it. Kylo rarely takes pleasure with a partner, let alone a slave, but she is his by rights and there is no reason he should stand on ceremony.

So he doesn’t fight her when she goes to her knees once more, in fact leans against the cell door to watch as she frees him from his clothing and takes him in her mouth. The sound she makes is deeply pleased, and he matches it. Whatever other skills she may possess, Kylo hasn’t found them yet, but she is talented with her mouth and with a blade, and Kylo thinks he could have paid twice as much as he had for her and still received more than his money’s worth. Her eyes flick upward once to see him watching her, then she sets about her task single-mindedly, as if she could wrench his very soul from his cock with lips and tongue. Kylo is inclined to let her try.

He’s panting, eyes locked on the twitch of his own hips toward her mouth, when she slides a hand under the nomadic wrappings she wears, fingers going to the space between her spread thighs. She only leaves them there for a second before swiping her tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock and pulling back. His hand is twisted in her hair before he thinks about it, unwilling to let her retreat. Her eyes have the same calculating look as before, frozen where she is. Her hands move slowly, so he can see what she’s doing as she unwraps herself, sand-colored fabric pooling at her waist before she tries to gently escape his grip and stand. He allows it, and she gets herself fully naked before stepping back to sit on the cot.

He follows, shrugging off his own clothing as he goes, and even lets her guide him to sitting so she can straddle his hips. With the heat of her pressed against him, Kylo can’t stop his hands from coming up to dig into her flesh, dragging her close and down so he can thrust against where she’s wet and hot. A slight rearrangement, and he’s suddenly inside her, sliding deep in a quick move that has her arching back and latching a hand around his knee for support. His own hands are at her hip and shoulder, unwilling to let her go far while he takes the moment to revel in the tight fit of her.

She recovers faster than he does, straightening and rolling her shoulder to dislodge his hand. Knees spread around his hips, she rises on him to fall back down, the pair of them open-mouthed, his eyes on the join of their bodies, hers locked on his face. She does nearly all the work, Kylo only helping by meeting her downward thrusts and providing some leverage with his palms spread over the underside of her thighs. She’s almost as fascinating to watch as she had been on the sands, taking her pleasure with the same aggression she’d taken on all her opponents. Her teeth are grit in the same way, brow furrowed as she rides him hard.

Her hand flies to his hair when she nears her peak, and though he wraps his own fingers around her wrist in warning, he can’t bring himself to mind the somewhat possessive move too much. She finishes herself off like that, her other hand moving between her legs to press just above where his cock is buried in her. Her muscles clench and release around him and he follows her over within a handful of moments, groaning into the humid air and digging bruising fingers into her thigh and wrist.

They stay panting into the silence for a few seconds, Kylo contemplating the virtues of keeping her as a personal attendant rather than a gladiator. She hadn’t come cheaply, exactly, but he’s seen more frivolous spending among the nobility by far. It wouldn’t be unusual.

He wouldn’t call what she does when she gets her breath back a kiss – it’s much too loose for that, her open mouth dragging across his cheekbone until her sigh is felt against his temple. It’s a shockingly intimate gesture, such a soft sound from the small fury still in his lap.

“Men are not made slaves by coins alone,” she says, almost a whisper, almost a sigh, entirely self-satisfied.

He forces her off of him at that, a second slower than he’d like, and watches her sprawl naked on the floor of the cell, not a hint of the shame she should feel. He dresses quickly and without a word, not sparing a glance for her until he’s at the door. She remains naked, now curled to sit with her arms resting easily on her knees as she gives him a grin that tells him she is far from humiliated by their exchange.

“You will be collected this evening,” he says flatly, and she nods easily. He locks the door behind him knowing full well she’ll have him panting under her again in no time, and trapped between anticipation and blinding rage at the notion that his new slave may have more hold on him than he will ever have on her.


	2. Secretly You Love This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey has just received the mark of her dominus, becoming a true gladiator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I write more gladiator porn? Better question: Why the hell wouldn't I?

The brand on Rey’s wrist is still new, barely scarred over, and she hisses as Kylo’s fingers brush across the cauterized wound, tracing the lines and curve of the R pressed into her flesh. It’s his mark, denoting her status as his gladiator, training completed and ready to fight for her dominus on the sands of the arena. It also makes his cock throb where he’s pressed against her thigh. Rey twists beneath him, grinding her shoulder blades into the packed earth of his private training grounds, and Kylo bites into her collarbone. Rey moans and wrenches one hand free from his grip only to latch her fingers around his neck and drag at him like he could get any closer to her skin.

She doesn’t really need his teaching anymore - hasn’t since before she took her oath - but they have regular sessions anyway. Sometimes Kylo will have something new to show her, more often than not she’ll best him, but it’s always a balance between the two, the play of aggression a veneer over the more earnest tension between them. He was right. Rey is ostensibly his property, and she had submitted to his training as a proper gladiator, but when they are alone, she holds a power over him that he cannot bring himself to resent. While to the world, her gore is his glory, in private moments her skin is his weakness, her mouth his addiction, and Kylo worships her like a goddess bedecked in righteous fury.

“Rey…” Kylo growls her name as his hand curls, jealous, over the scar marking her as belonging to the house of Ren. It’s a decoration, at best, but it feeds into the fantasy that she’s  _ his _ and it drives him nearly mad. Rey squirms, impatient, and shoves at his shoulder with her free hand, bucking up her hips. He stalls, his mouth on her breast a delicate reminder that she does not control him, but his continued descent proof that she does.

Still, he is allowed to linger on her breasts, pale cloth discarded to her sides so that sweat glistens on her bare chest as he drags his tongue from the valley between her breasts over the rise to her nipple. She keens when he gets there, teeth worrying at her on the edge of pain. Kylo toys with her left nipple until she’s pushing at him again, but ignores her downward shove to give equal attention to the other side, assuaging her with his fingers between her legs. The shallow wound left by his blade is still bleeding sluggishly, just below his mouth, and his chin smears with her blood when he finally does obey her silent demand for him to move lower.

Rey locks her legs around his head when he dips to lap at her cunt, one hand coming up to dig his fingers into her thigh. The other slides under her ass, tipping her at an angle he likes and making her cry out. He’s immediately messy, her slick all over his mouth as he blindly seeks out her clit. Above him, Rey starts swearing in her native tongue and he laughs, earning a kick to his shoulder. It’s the bad one, the one Rey left a scar across a month ago, and he hasn’t quite healed yet, so Kylo rears back in a mix of annoyance and pain.

The look Rey gives him isn’t apologetic, but it is regretful, and that’s about as close as he’s ever gotten when she’s been insubordinate or downright violent with him. Still, her kick at his weak point burns low in his gut, a heady cross between admiration for her and the need to put her in her place. He doesn’t think about it much before he does it. Before he’s quite aware, Kylo’s torn her clothing from her body and has her lifted into his arms, taking swift steps to the edge of the courtyard, kicking one of their training swords out of his way.

Rey gasps when her back connects with the wall hard, nails digging in around his neck.  Kylo pays it no mind, a shallow sort of pain that only fuels him when she’s capable of bringing him to his knees in so many ways when she puts her mind to it. He uses his size to his advantage, one of the few he has, and Kylo’s already labored breathing catches at the ease with which he can push her up, shouldering under her thighs and lifting so she’s spread for him, knees over his shoulders and back to the wall. Standing like that with her seated across his shoulders, Rey has to either behave or fall, and she wisely chooses the former, mewling softly when Kylo rewards her complacency with his tongue.

She’s hardly a weight on him, ankles locked between his shoulder blades and her hands in his hair. Kylo can do whatever he likes with her like this, and some part of him laughs that what he does is please her just as she wants when the scales are tipped fleetingly in his favor. Her noises are reward enough, high and shocked when he uses his hands to keep her spread wide and lick up into her, rumbling his pleasure. Rey’s hips are restless, pressing back and forth and rolling circles against his face, and Kylo steps closer to the wall allowing her more stability. Her thighs shake around his ears as she gets close, panting his name like a plea. It’s more gratifying than he’d care to admit when she makes a broken, forlorn noise as he pulls back before she can come.

Rey glares at him when he grins up at her sharply, slicking his tongue over his lower lip and gathering up the taste of her there. She bends nearly in half trying to reach his mouth with hers, so Kylo relents and lets her legs slip off his shoulders down into the crook of his elbows. Rey tugs at him, sliding her mouth through the wetness covering his chin before biting down on his lip, arms around his neck. He kisses her for a time, an echo of their earlier combat with the both of them fighting for dominance. Kylo loops one of her legs around his waist so he can fumble for her arm, bringing her wrist around and down so he can interrupt their kiss to put his lips on his mark there. Rey’s eyes seer into him and he wonders if she’ll kill him one day, if he’ll grant her freedom and save them both from burning each other to ashes.

For now, he’s content to brand himself with the fire of her, putting her hand against the wall and hitching his arm under her leg again, thrusting forward to press his cock between her legs without breaching her. She’s slick and hot, sweat and saliva and her own excitement easing his way, but he moves only on her command. He has since she started this game he’s losing so badly, and it’s the one point he can ever win.

“Tell me,” he says, his lines well-learned and bitten into the skin under her jaw. Rey groans, twists in an effort to get him inside of her without having to say a word, but Kylo has her well in his hold. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your cock,” she rasps, angry and vulgar, a woman better versed in the use of a sword than manners, and it flies down his spine like lightning in his blood. “Fuck me.”

Kylo obeys, having won that simple inch of give from her, thrusting up and in without hesitation. Rey chokes at the sudden stretch, grinding down against him almost immediately. His hands slip in the damp under her knees, but he manages to keep his grip, fucking into her with abandon. It’s a blessing the house is his, peopled only with servants who know better than to interrupt when Kylo’s grunts and shouts echo through the halls alongside Rey’s higher noises. They are never quiet - he can’t be, too lost to her, while Rey is unashamed, selfish and unapologetic in her pleasure. She screams when she comes, back and shoulders surely bruised from the way he’s driving relentlessly into her where he stands, and shudders through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Kylo watches, eyes wide, hungry for her reactions, the fiercely pleased look that crosses her face as her cunt squeezes around him. It’s a madness, and Rey has told him as such, told him he looks mad watching her come, as fanatical as he does watching her kill. He can’t be expected to help it. Rey is as exquisite in the throes of passion as she is in the flush of victory, blood high in her cheeks and fire in her eyes. It’s the same expression she wears now, holding onto him and daring him to follow her over the edge.

“ _ Mine _ ,” she growls, like it’s his name, like it’s who he is, and Kylo hits his own climax with satisfaction glowing on her face, shouting into her shoulder before biting down. Blood wells under his tongue, matching the red lines she’s clawed into his arms. It’s nowhere near the deepest wounds they’ve inflicted on each other, but they are the most well-earned, the most often retraced and remembered. Rey’s hand comes up to lace through his hair, dragging the rough skin across her wrist over the side of his neck, and Kylo shivers. Perhaps he has a new favorite scar.


End file.
